


Failures and Broken Promises

by compos_dementis



Category: Hannibal (TV), Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-25
Updated: 2013-07-25
Packaged: 2017-12-21 07:05:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 508
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/897309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/compos_dementis/pseuds/compos_dementis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock makes Will a promise.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Failures and Broken Promises

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the prompt "Prison: Our muses communicating, separated by metal bars." For a roleplay partner.

A cacophony of joyless noise meets Sherlock as he approaches the prison cell. The other inmates, for all that they can, are shouting obscenities at him; noisy, without passion. Sherlock has no interest in them. His own interest lies at the end of the long corridor, quiet and sullen in his cage.

“Hello, Will."

He isn’t accustomed to calling the other by his first name, but upon their shaky, rocky, slowly building friendship — on such uneven ground — he thinks it appropriate. Will’s head lifts from the shadow of his own nightmarish situation and his gaze, for a split second, meets Sherlock’s own unwavering one. 

“Holmes." Will’s voice is soft, close to inaudible before he clears his throat noiselessly, swallowing. “What are you doing here?"

With a heavy heart, Sherlock states, “I’m here to apologize."

Will’s expression flickers. He’s staring at something just over Sherlock’s shoulder, refusing to meet his eyes, but there is the hint of something like curiosity there. And an expression like he’s tasted something sour. Sherlock never apologizes, or at least rarely enough that it certainly seems like never.

"Don’t."

"Will—" Sherlock’s voice catches and his mouth closes again. “I know you didn’t do this. The man I know would not… kill innocent people. The man I know would even hesitate to kill those who aren’t."

Will’s jaw clenches, and it’s a motion Sherlock traces with his eyes. He feels sick to his stomach; he feels like a failure. Assigned to the Chesapeake Ripper case, only to have a potential friendship torn from him, scattered to the winds like so much dust. Sherlock is furious with Crawford, furious with the i n c o m p e t e n c e of these men calling themselves special agents—- he’s furious with himself, most of all.

Sherlock swallows.

"Listen to me," he says, his voice low. “I’m going to prove you’re innocent. I’m going to get you out of that cell if it’s the last case I ever solve. Are we clear?"

Will’s eyes widen, just barely, a minimal movement, and his gaze flickers up to Sherlock’s in a moment of vulnerability. "You shouldn’t risk your reputation like that. Not for me."

"My reputation is not worth letting you take the blame for someone else’s actions."

The words are out before he can stop them, and he and Will are looking at one another, meeting each other’s eyes like they always had been. Sherlock tightens his scarf, feeling a sudden desperate need to give his hands something to do.

"Sherlock."

Sherlock tilts his head in silent questioning, and something has shifted between them, something… crucial. 

"Thank you."

"Don’t thank me yet," he says, and there is something sad about that, but he swallows it down like a bitter pill. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I have a meeting with Crawford to attend to."

Will gives one silent nod, and Sherlock turns, walking that long walk down the hall once again. This time, it’s with a confident stride and a cigarette already halfway to his lips.


End file.
